Breathing
by Asanisan
Summary: It was like breathing to her, but she still had her doubts because of him. Ryosaku *Hiatus*
1. The Reason to Stay Small

**Breathing **

She's sitting on the little bench in the small park next to the very big airport, watching the jumbo jets fly overhead. She's looking straight up at them, the blue, partially cloudy sky providing a backdrop. The planes fly so close she thinks she can see faces in the windows, but then that's just silly. She closes her eyes as another one roars by.

What is she going to do? Her father, the famous martial arts expert and sometimes not-so-expert tennis player, and her mother, the professional, six-figure salary photographer, have called her to journey with them this summer on their tour of the dojo in China. It's a great opportunity to see new sights and meet new people.

But she knows that if she goes, she'll end up staying. While she fell in love with tennis, martial arts are her life. It was like breathing. And when she wasn't on the battlefield, it felt like she was drowning. That's why she's clumsy all the time. She couldn't move right when she wasn't in her uniform and performing a kata. That's why she forgets things all the time. She had to concentrate on not using too much force in almost everything she did, and definitely not issuing challenges of battle to her fellow classmates just to see if they were really as unskilled in that area as she thought they were. That's why she's so non-confrontational. She doesn't want to hurt anyone who can't defend himself because of lack of proper training. That's why she was so shy. She couldn't fathom communicating correctly with anyone besides through her fists. She just wasn't comfortable anywhere that wasn't inside a dojo or an impromptu battleground.

Yes, if she goes, she'll stay. Because martial arts is like breathing. The thrill of the fight the inhale; the rush of adrenaline when you get hit the exhale; the counterattack the inhale; the block the exhale. Nothing else compares. She tried tennis. While it was fun and thrilling, it wasn't like breathing.

And her heart yearns to get on one of those big planes, to fly off and see the big sky and the big dojo and the big world of all types of martial arts. All the grand, wide, and gaping possibilities.

But she's sitting here on this little bench with doubts, holding her breath. Because there's a boy who loves tennis so much that she fell in love with it to. And that boy would never look her direction twice in one day because he loves tennis so much. And she loves him because of it. Because for him, tennis is like breathing.

His golden eyes flash in her mind's eye, issuing a challenge to any brave enough to meet him on the court, and she just can't help sitting here on this little bench in this small park. She blames it on the lack of oxygen to her brain.

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**Author's Note:** Those aren't sentence fragments. They're meant to be there. My wonderful English teacher Matra Kreig once told me something similar to this: the mark of a good writer is that he knows all the rules and then knows when to break them. I like my fic the way it is, so while I would appreciate any grammatical errors, etc. pointed out to me, please don't notify me to the fragments unless you're sure they're not intentional.

And yes, Sakuno is extremely AU. But that's my prerogative as a writer. ;p

Thanks so much for reading,

Asanisan


	2. Where It Comes From

**Breathing I**

**Chapter 2:** Where It Comes From

She walked into the small two-story house her grandparents owned.

It was close to her school, so she had spent the night over here often, and now that her parents were away, she spent all her nights here. It wasn't much compared to the large compound that served as dojo and living quarters to her family, but it was a very comfortable little dwelling and there was something freeing about getting away from the usually scenery around the dojo.

When Tou-san had grown up and taken over the dojo, Okaa-san had pressured Ojii-san to move out. It was just the woman's free spirit not wanting to burden anyone and live out in the open. Sakuno could understand that, could admire that in her obaa-san. She was fiercely independent and even now refused to subsist on Ojii-san's income as a dojo master and instructor, thriving in her job as a tennis coach at the prestigious

Seishun Gakuen. Sakuno hoped to be that strong with the man she would marry one day.

"I'm home!" she called as she shut the door behind her.

"Welcome home, Ryu-chan," Ojii-san greeted as he walked into the entrance hallway.

She smiled at the nickname and quickly took off her shoes, placing them neatly beside the other two pairs.

She took a moment to admire the old man she loved with all her heart, not only as family, but as a person as well. He was in his late fifties, but his spine was as straight and strong as it had been in his twenties, a consequence of a life as a martial arts master. He carried himself with confidence and authority and each movement was fluid with grace. His golden eyes were sharp, but kindly, often bright and warm. His face was a little sunken, the mouth and eyes ringed by laugh lines, but the beauty it portrayed in his younger days could still be seen there. His ashy brown hair streaked with silver was long and tied in two braids at the extreme base of his skull, the traditional hairstyle of the men in the Ryuuzaki family that served as a powerful weapon in close combat. His shoulders were broad and powerful and Sakuno thought there was nothing they couldn't bear.

"Back from the park so soon?" he asked as she bent to slip on a pair of house slippers. "Learn anything about yourself?"

Sakuno's eyes darted up to her wise grandfather before settling on the floor. She knew that this small act as well as the almost unnoticeable slump in her shoulders would be enough to let Ojii-san know her soul-searching and brought her no closer to the answers she sought. It was oddly comforting knowing she needed no words for Ojii-san to understand her.

With her slippers on, she made to continue on into the house, but her grandfather blocked the way, holding up a palm harshly perpendicular to the floor and planting his feet in preparation.

She frowned at him and then looked away.

"Come on, Ojii-san. Don't you think I'm…a little too old for that?"

He scowled at her. "Too old? What does age have to do with it?"

"W-well, it's just that no one else does this type of stuff with their-"

"Ah," he said with a wide scowl and quickly snatched a braid from behind her back, tugging hard. "I see. You think because you're down and moping I'll let you get by with that excuse? 'Let me be normal, Ojii-san.' I think not. My girl was not made to be normal. We both know that. You are hiding from me, my girl, and I won't have it."

She winced as he pulled harder. She didn't want him to know her feelings. Not today. Not when she felt horrible for not getting on that plane. Not when she felt horrible about not having the courage to tell that boy what it meant to her to watch him breathe. She was stuck with no way out. Ojii-san was right. She was hiding, not wanting to see disappointment in the old man's eyes, but she was a Ryuuzaki, and a Ryuuzaki never hid from the ones she loved.

"Fine," she sighed.

Ojii-san quickly let go and the wide scowl turned into a wide grin.

"Now, let me see Sakuno," he breathed with anticipation and holding his palm up like before.

She sighed again. She slid a foot behind her and dropped to a slight crouch, taking a deep breath and finding her center. She raised her hands as fist before her, initiating the first position of the kata she had been taught as soon as she could walk.

With another deep breath and a last glance at Ojii-san's expectant face, she shifted her weight to her back foot and jumped up, twisting in the air and using all of her power, all of her weight, and all of her centripetal force, she landed a punch dead center into his palm. In house slippers of his own, he slid backwards half a meter on the hardwood floor.

She was a little worried that she had used too much force for a simple greeting punch, but Ojii-san only let out a loud laugh.

"Ah, that's what it is!" he said happily. "Angry at yourself, are you? Stuck and dismayed that you can't find your way out."

She sighed. Of course he had read her like a book through that punch. He was the one who had taught her how to read someone through his punch. She shook her head in dismay. The old man was simply incorrigible. She tried to walk past him, tired of having no thoughts to herself, but he slung his arm around her shoulders and steered her away from her room to the living room, where he sat her on the couch and held her in place beside him.

"Now, now. Don't go away mad. I feel your mind, but that doesn't mean I can read it. Tell me all about it."

"Ojii-san," she whined. "Can't I have something be private?"

"Hmm," he said, stroking the fuzz on his chin thoughtfully before turning to give her a bright smile. "Nope!"

She frowned at him and crossed her arms like an angry child who didn't get her way.

"Tou-san and Kaa-san want me to join them in China for the summer," she said reluctantly.

"Aa." He had been there when she got the letter and phone call. He had also felt the conflict the proposal had stirred in her the next time they had sparred. "That sounds like fun. I know you would enjoy it.

"I know I would too."

"Then what's the problem, Ryuu-chan?" he asked kindly in his deep, quiet voice.

"If I go, I won't get to watch Ryoma-kun's tennis," she said quietly in almost a whisper.

Ojii-san noticed the blush she tried to hide behind her bangs. It was embarrassing to admit that a boy was holding her back. Ojii-san didn't think so, though. He just smiled at her and nodded.

"Ryoma…that's Nanjirou's kid isn't it. The one your obaa-chan won't stop talking about?"

She nodded slightly, looking up into his golden eyes and hoping he wouldn't be too angry with her.

"Isn't he the one that won't notice anything twice in one day unless it has to do with tennis?" he speculated.

She blushed and nodded again.

"Hm. I suppose that's why you like him then?"

She nodded at his questioning glance. He bobbed his head in time with hers.

"Makes sense," he said with a wry smile.

Her eyes went wide. He wasn't mad?

"It…It does?" she asked with confusion.

"Of course. The two of you are a lot alike."

"We are?" she asked skeptically.

"Sure. Don't you remember?"

"Remember what?"

"Remember the time when you ate, drank, slept, and dreamt of nothing but martial arts. Hell, if I didn't know any better I'd swear you breathed it too. Your obaa-chan was so worried you would never see anything else and would be doomed to a martial arts dominated life," he said with a fond smile and a little sarcasm. "I wouldn't have minded, but she was right. It wasn't exactly socially healthy for such a young girl to have such a one-track mind. You'll never believe how happy she and your kaa-chan were when you finally started to take interest in the world outside of martial arts. When was that? It was only a few years ago."

"Hai," she said, the memories slowly returning. "That was when Tomo-chan was a student at the dojo. She's the one who got me interested in the outside world."

"Ah, yes. Hanamitsu's girl. She had talent. She could have been something if she had worked harder, but alas, no one can hold onto a social butterfly without crushing it."

She giggled at his wistful tone. He smiled and laughed with her, but soon turned a serious, calculating eye on her. She stopped at looked at him curiously.

"What?"

"Have I ever told you how I met your obaa-chan?"

She nodded. "Your mother wanted you to take up a different sport to get some of your mind off the dojo. You took up tennis and Obaa-chan was your instructor. You were horrible at it at first, but you got better. You and Obaa-chan fell in love along the way."

"Hm. Close, but not quite."

"Really?"

He nodded at her. Her brow furrowed.

"Then how did it go?"

"Well, she was my instructor and I was terrible at first, but I didn't fall in love along the way."

"But…"

"Let me finish," he admonished, tugging lightly on her braids. "I fell in love with her the first time I saw her play serious tennis."

"Really?" she asked hopefully, glad she wasn't the only one.

"Yep. She was amazing, Ryuu-chan. Every stroke, every backhand, every volley. She put her heart and soul into it. She was so passionate about her game and even when she lost, she smiled just because she had the chance to play. It took my breath away actually. That's how you feel about this Ryoma, isn't it?"

She nodded shyly.

"Heh. Well, I'm not going to tell you it's going to be easy. Hell, I had to go through quite a lot of shit with that woman before she finally admitted she loved me too."

"Language, Ojii-chan."

"And like you, I made a few damn stupid sacrifices too," he said, ignoring her reprisal. "But I did manage it and now I couldn't be happier. If it's something you really want to happen, you'll have to work very hard. But I know you can do it if you set your mind to it, kiddo."

"Ojii-san," she moaned, "I'm only thirteen. It's too early to be thinking about love."

"Whatever you say, Ryuu-chan," he said tenderly as he ruffled her bangs. "So, do you feel better about it now?"

She smiled at him and nodded.

"Good. Now go on up to your room and practice that excellent karate form of yours. It's not quite perfect yet."

"Hai!"

She gave a light punch to the palm he held up as he gave an easy hit to the palm she held up for him. It was how they communicated. She could blame him for crippling her communication skills in the outside world, but she really couldn't bring herself to do it. If she had to choose, she would rather be able to understand someone's feeling through a simple touch.

She ran off like he said, pausing only a moment to glance back at the strong old man who had taught her about life and the martial arts. This is where she came from and she couldn't be happier.


	3. Memories I Wish I Hadn't Forgot

**Breathing I**

**Chapter 3:** (Ryoma Interlude) Memories I Wish I Hadn't Forgot

He was hungry. He had just woken up from his afternoon nap. Karupin yawned at his feet, rolled over and then went back to sleep. Very slowly, so as not to disturb her, he put his feet down on the traditional wood flooring he loved so much. Really, why had he ever left Japan? Seeking out strong tennis opponents was fun and all, but there was really no place like home. Too bad it was just for the summer.

He walked out of his room lazily, making sure all body language pointed to his obvious dislike to put up with an annoyances right now, aka his idiot oyaji. Luckily, there wasn't anyone around. At least, not upstairs there wasn't. He heard them about halfway down, Kaa-san and Oyaji in the kitchen. He slid open the door only to be greeted with laughter.

"Oh, I remember that one," Kaa-san laughed.

"Hey, yeah! That was the time Sano got hit on by that guy," he laughed. "Sakura was so pissed, she wiped the floor with him with a camera string. The guy cried like a little girl."

"That's not how _I _remember it. I seem to recall you told the poor guy Sano was a girl," she grinned mischievously. "And the only reason Sakura didn't beat you up too was because Sano stopped her."

"Heh. Really? I guess I blacked that part out," Oyaji said as he scratched his chin.

As he came into the room, he saw what had their attention. It was an old photo album, the pages black and the pictures a little faded and old looking.

"Ah, Ryoma," Kaa-san called. "Come see these. There's some of you as a baby."

"No thanks," he said, more interested in filling his stomach than looking at some old pictures of a time he couldn't even remember.

"Ne, Shonen!" his father said, coming over and putting him in a headlock before dragging him over to the table and the photo album. "This is history! History! Young minds should always be filled with such knowledge! Do like Kaa-san says and let your mind be filled with the history!"

"What are you babbling on about, baka oyaji?" Ryoma intoned.

"I'm talking about where you come from!" the old man said with a satisfied smile now that his son was looking. "The circumstances of your oyaji's life. The triumphs, the glories, the hilarious anecdotes of the–"

Ryoma ignored his father's ramblings and chose to look at the pictures for lack of anything better to do. All of the pictures had his mother and father in them at a fair. They were laughing and smiling in all of them. There were also two other women with them, one in a kimono for the fair and the other in traditional dress like what his father wore around the house, except a little more formal and properly closed. They were both very pretty, but the woman with the long ashy brown braids was downright beautiful. They both seemed oddly familiar somehow. He couldn't put his finger on it though.

"Who are those girls?" he asked suddenly, pointing to a close-up shot of just the two.

For some weird reason, his parents started snickering. He hated when they did that. It was always a 'I know something good that you don't' snicker that they both made whenever he said something he probably shouldn't have. He glared up at the both of them, not sure how effective it would be when their eyes were closed in mirth and he was still in his father's headlock.

"That's not a girl, Ryoma," Okaa-san said kindly, pointing to the beautiful one with the braids. "That's Sano-kun. He and your father went to school together. He was on your father's tennis team."

"What?!" he yelled disbelievingly. He looked back at the picture, a little bit more discerning this time. Now that he thought about it, the braided girl was a little flat chested. Okay, they were nonexistent. And she was wearing men's clothes. She could be a he.

"But he's so pretty!" he thought out loud.

"Tell me about it. It's really weird having a best friend you'd consider dating if he wore a dress and some makeup," his father said.

"If I wasn't married, of course," Oyaji said quickly at his mother's suspicious glare.

"So is the other one a girl?" he asked, not sure anymore. She was busty enough. Her face was heart-shaped and her bright red hair was in an elegant sweep and bun on the top of her head. And she was wearing a kimono. She seemed girly enough, but he was pretty sure his father knew at least a few transvestites.

"Hai," his mother said happily. "That's Sakura-chan. She's Sano's wife. She and I are good friends. She's a photographer. That's why most of the pictures in here are so good."

"If you're such good friends with them, how come I've never met them?" he asked angrily, still wondering how they looked so familiar. It was getting to him like an itch he couldn't reach.

"You have met them," she said. "When you were only a baby. And it was only while we were living here during the summer. Back then we would always come back for visits. But when you got older, and I got busier at work, it was harder to find the time to come and visit. We kept in touch though. You should see all the letters we get from them."

That made a little sense.

"But how come I haven't met them now?" he asked. "We've been in Japan for a while now."

"Well, a couple of years ago, they went on a tour of China," his father said, touching a picture of the four of them together as if longing for his friends.

"China?" he asked skeptically.

"Yeah, they're going around to all the dojo and monasteries they can find. She's taking pictures and that crazy guy is probably learning everything he can," Oyaji said with a fond smirk.

"Dojo? Monasteries? What would they go there for?" he asked.

"Sano-kun is a martial arts master, Ryoma," his mother told him. "He's absolutely crazy about it. He eats, sleeps, and breathes karate and the like. He's really into it and he says he needs more than what just Japan has to offer. He was the grand master of a dojo, but I think he left it to his daughter when he left. His father probably helps run it too."

"How old is his daughter?" he asked curiously. Sano-san and Sakura-san had to be the same age as his mother and father. They couldn't have a kid old enough to be grand master of a dojo.

"She's only a few months younger than you are," his mother said, turning the page to a picture of two toddlers, one with dark, greenish hair and golden eyes and the other with brownish red hair and eyes the color of burnt honey. The itch in his head got worse.

"You've probably met her," his father said conspiratorially. He took out a picture of Sano-san and Sakura-san and showed him the back.

Ryuuzaki Sanosuke. Ryuuzaki Sakura. August 14. Those were the words on the back. There was no freaking way.

"She's your coach's granddaughter," Oyaji said smugly with a too wide grin and his abviously shocked state.

He reached up and took the picture out his father's hand. He turned it over and stared at the two faces smiling out at him. So these were Ryuuzaki's parents? These were Ryuuzaki's parents. The itch in his head was gone. No wonder they looked so familiar. And how could he have missed those braids.

Ryoma looked at the pictures of the two babies, now seeing Ryuuzaki in that baby face next to his own. He handed the picture of her parents back to his mother, who lovingly tucked it back in its place.

His father let him out of the headlock, but he only straightened and continued to look at the pictures in shock. His father patted him on the back happily.

"Ne, Shonen, don't worry about it. You'll get to meet them some day. Preferably before you marry Sakuno-chan."

He didn't even hear his father. He was too focused on what he had heard earlier and applying it to this disturbing revelation.

"Ryuuzaki is the grand master of a dojo?"

* * *

**Author's Note:**

This story is still on Hiatus. The muse just struck me all of a sudden. So, don't epect anything more for a while. For those who are interested in the writing process, look up The Chapter that Never Was. It was the first draft of this chapter. Some of it was good. I didn't want to just erase it, so I posted it as it's own fic. I think Ryoma may have been a little more in character in that one, but this fit the story's tone better I think. Enjoy.

Sani


	4. Stubborn, Not Clumsy

**Breathing I**

**Chapter 4:** Stubborn, Not Clumsy 

Sakuno hated stairs. She hated them with a passion. They were the foul succubus waiting to seduce her into shame and dishonor. She had promised her father the last time she had sent a classmate to the hospital, which had been a long time ago when she hadn't fully realized her own strength in terms of normal second graders, that she would never again use the heightened abilities her rigorous training had given her. She had promised she would act like any normal girl. Stairs were therefore evil.

They loomed at her in the most ominous of ways every time she looked at them. In between class, they called to her every time she passed, which was often considering there were four flights in the main hallway alone.

_I bet you can't climb me in a single bound_, they whispered as she walked past.

_A little squirt like you could never conquer me in one perfectly executed leap,_ they sighed as she gazed up the steps.

_No one will ever claim my entire length with one flying jump,_ the especially alluring three floor spiral staircase in the library would murmur as she picked out a nice romance novel Tomoka had suggested.

It was a challenge to the prowess of her abilities. And because it was a challenge, she had trouble walking away. She knew she could do all the things the stairs whispered were impossible, but the only way she could silence those damnable mutterings was to act. But she had promised her father she would not act, that she would be normal and not challenge stairs to a duel in jumping height.

So, yes, she hated stairs. Not for the challenge she couldn't accept, but for the humiliation their temptation caused.

The first few steps, she could handle. It was easy to resist with a prepared mind. But usually by the fifth step, her walls started breaking down. She started to make excuses. She would get there faster if she jumped up to the landing instead of climbing ever so slowly up step after step after step. She would be preventing wear on the steps and thereby making it safer and more cost efficient for the whole school. It was in the school's best interest that she leap the stairs. The whole student body would be better off if she leaped up the stairs. So, by the ninth step, her body, pulling off her mind's justifications, had already decided to jump to the next landing.

It was then that the mind renounced its earlier thinking and firmly reminded the body of her promise. In that moment of conflict between desire and honor, body and mind, she tripped over her own two feet, too many wires crossing in promotion of two conflicting reactions.

Yes, everyone in school knew she couldn't walk up stairs without tripping. Everyone knew it happened before she had even gotten halfway up. Yes, they laughed at her whenever they saw it happen. Thankfully, it was not a malicious laugh, but one that shrugged at her clumsiness and sympathized with her plight.

But she wasn't clumsy. Everyone at the dojo knew her form to be the most graceful, sans her father and grandfather. She knew where every foot and every finger was at any exact moment. She could even tell you which way her braids were hanging. But no one at school knew that.

She was fine with that. It wasn't the end of the world if a few kids thought she was clumsy. It was the dojo that mattered. That fact didn't stop her from blushing madly every time someone laughed. And it never ended.

The stairs kept whispering. She kept tripping. And one time Ryoma saw. It was one of the few times she had heard him laugh. She knew it was him right away. There was no mistaking the voice she had strained to hear from a crowded fan section of a stadium. She had almost cried at that moment. It wasn't fine if Ryoma thought she was clumsy.

But as she looked up at those stupid stairs and cursed her stubbornness to never back down from a challenge, she knew there was nothing for it. She only sighed, wiping away the unfallen tears, picked herself up from the stairs, rubbing the forearm that had broken her fall and would now be bruised, and had calmly walked up the rest of the steps, admitting defeat this time. Stairs-9,874, Sakuno-0.

"Daijoubou, Ryuuzaki?"

She was surprised to see a hand that time. While Ryoma had laughed at her, he had also offered to help her get back up.

She took his hand, but was careful to use her own muscles getting up, simply holding his hand as she stood on her own. After all, she wasn't weak and she would rather die than have him feel that way about her.

"Why are you so clumsy?" he had asked in an unusual show of curiosity in her non tennis-related self.

"B-because I'm stu-stubborn and I-I…I don't back down," she had muttered quietly with a grand blush.

He had looked at her with confusion, but when she didn't bother to explain herself, he shrugged and lost interest. They walked to class together. Sakuno was glad for it, because the challenge of the stairs whispering across her neck always seemed to lessen whenever she was around other people.

That didn't stop her from tripping on the next flight of stairs, though.


	5. She Fights

**Breathing I**

**Chapter 5:** (Ryoma Interlude) She Fights

He couldn't imagine meek, sweet little Ryuuzaki hitting anyone. Honestly, he tried. He just couldn't picture it. A grand master of a dojo? Someone who beats the crap out of people for a living? There was no way.

"Ne, Shonen," his father said, giving his shoulder a shake. "She's cute and all, but you shouldn't stare like that. Girls will think you're creepy."

"Ryuuzaki, stuttering, shy, clumsy little Ryuuzaki, is the grand master of a dojo?!" he asked just to be sure.

"Of course," his mother said with a knowing smile. "It runs in her blood. Before Sano-kun, Himaru-jii-san, her grandfather, was the grand master. And before Himaru-jii-san, it was his father. And before that, it was his father's father. It goes back and back for generations. The Ryuuzaki style actually originated as a ninja form, so no one is really sure who the founder is, but almost everyone agrees someone from the Ryuuzaki family has always held the title of grand master of Ryuuzaki-do. Her father and grandfather both were teaching that girl kata as soon as she could stand up."

"What, they didn't wait till she could walk first?" he asked sarcastically.

"I wouldn't say anything, Ryoma," his mother warned. "Your Oyaji was teaching you about tennis as soon as you could crawl."

His father gave a pleased chuckle and his grin showed all his teeth. Ryoma just shook his head, still trying to fit the image of Sakuno and grand master together.

"I can't believe it."

"What do you mean?" his mother asked.

"It's impossible. There's so way a girl who trips so much is the grand master of a dojo."

"You'd be surprised," his father said. "Sano-kun was the same way all through high school. The only times I saw him show even a little bit of talent for common motor skills was on the tennis courts. Even then he was all whippy hair and wobbly hips. I still don't know how he was able to play so well with such a bad form, but he did. The first time I saw him in a martial arts tournament, I thought he was someone else. He was bold and outgoing and raring to go punch someone's face in, which was really different from how he usually was. That's probably why they wear those braids. So you can recognize them in the ring."

Ryoma just shook his head. There was no way he would be able to picture kind, caring, clumsy Sakuno as anything other than a shy, meek little girl.

"If you still can't believe it, why don't you go see a tournament?" his mother said helpfully. "Sumire-sensei gave us some tickets to the next one that's coming up. There's one for you too, but I didn't think you would be interested if it wasn't tennis. You might not get to see Sakuno-chan fight though. Only the grand masters of the winning teams' dojo will fight, but from what Himaru-jii-san says, the Ryuuzaki-do pupil is sure to win the spot."

"I'll go," he said, agreeing a little too quickly for his own liking. He hoped his father didn't notice.

"Ne, eager aren't we, Shonen?" his father asked with a wide, catty grin as he ruffled Ryoma's hair roughly. Ryoma shoved his hand away. "Could it be you're interested in Sakuno-chan?"

The suggestive wiggle of the eyebrows his father gave really ticked him off.

"Shut up, baka oyaji," he said as he got himself a snack.

"Well, if you want to come, it's Saturday afternoon," his mother said with a small smile as she flipped lazily through the photo album. "You can meet Himaru-jii-san too if you want. Oh, look at this one, Nanjirou. Remember when we went to Sumire-sensei's and…"

They went back to happily chatting and laughing over old times and Ryoma tuned them out. Instead, he thought about what he would see at the tournament. He pictured Ryuuzaki in a gi, stuttering as she greeted her opponent and politely told him to take the first move. He smirked. Saturday would be interesting.


End file.
